


Sanctuary

by Aiobhlin



Category: Stigmata (1999)
Genre: F/M, Love, Prayer, aftermath porn, no beta but I think it's pretty good anyway, pretty much pwp, really the most vanilla thing I've ever written, sex as a sacrament, vanilla sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5861572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiobhlin/pseuds/Aiobhlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Alameida's soul is finally at rest. That crisis concluded, Andrew now has to face his crisis of faith, and the woman who made him realize he had one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Stigmata again yesterday and I was overcome with the sexual tension between these two characters, so I had to write 3400 words to overcome my angst. Also, I like to write people fucking. This has no beta but I proofread it myself three times.
> 
> I use some pretty flowery euphemisms for sexual organs here as a character choice. I just can't see Andrew saying "cock," even to himself.

Andrew watched Frankie walking in the garden of the archdiocese. His heart was full of awe that she was alive, and his lips still tingled from where hers had touched them. He could feel peace around her now, and she almost seemed to glow. The birds seemed to sense it, too, because one landed on her hand, and then another on her shoulder as she walked around and looked at the statuary. The light played in her hair, even matted as it was with her blood – blood from wounds that no longer existed. He marveled at her, at the entire experience. _Why did she come into my life? Why now?_

He ruminated on these thoughts while he watched her fingers trail across the flowers. His faith had been growing stale, he realized. Before Belo Quinto, he had spent so much time proving that so-called “miracles” were not real that he had forgotten that miracles had brought him to the priesthood to begin with. He deserved Houseman’s criticism that he had been acting more like a scientist than a man of faith. While the tears of blood mourning Father Alameida had stirred his heart, it had been Frankie’s questioning that had reminded him about the holes that science could not explain. Her questioning, and then her stigmata, which was a miracle all its own. He had studied miraculous phenomena for his entire career as a priest, always searching for the answer, the explanation. But he had never before stared a miracle in the face; never spoken to the spirit of an old man in the body of a young, attractive woman.

Even now, though, he was still troubled. His faith in God was renewed – what more proof did he need? – but he was troubled about the church, about its dogma and bureaucracy, and about his vows. _God is real,_ he thought, _but is He Catholic?_

So caught up in his thoughts, it took him a moment to realize that Frankie had paused in front of a statue. A small rabbit had joined her at her feet, and a dove still rested on her shoulder. It should have been absurd, like a scene out of a child’s cartoon, and yet it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He walked up behind her, slowly so as not to disturb the animals. Her face was serene, yet full of joy. He hadn’t seen her this happy in the whole time they had known each other, and realized that it had only been a few days. He followed her gaze to the statue, recognizing it immediately.

“St. Francis of Assisi,” he said quietly. “Remember, I told you…”

“The first to receive the stigmata,” she murmured. “He seems so calm.” She reached out and placed a finger in the dimple on the statue’s hand. “I thought you said he was tormented.”

Andrew looked at the statue’s face. It did look serene, much like the woman next to him. In fact, there were many parallels between them, down to the dove on the shoulder and the garment brushing the ground behind the feet.

“St. Francis was tormented by his faith, but it was a personal torment,” he said quietly, back in teaching mode, ever the Jesuit. “Most of the witness documents we have on him say that he was full of joy.”

“Joy in what?”

“Joy in life, joy in faith, joy in poverty. He was a cloth merchant’s son, and a soldier, and his youth was spent in debauchery, but God came to him in a dream and called him to ministry, and almost overnight he completely overhauled his life. He disowned his father, renounced all his wealth, and spent his life as a beggar, preaching the virtue of living in poverty as Jesus had commanded.”

“So he was a priest?” Her question was quiet, and her eyes still locked on the statue’s.

“He never accepted ordination, and probably would have resisted sainthood.”

The sun had moved in the sky, and their shadows were growing on the ground. Andrew looked behind the statue and saw one shadow, combining Frankie and St. Francis, his halo on her head. _God is everywhere. He is trying to tell me something about this woman._ Her face was still in profile. He reached out a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and the movement caused her to turn and face him. Again he felt that pull to her. He hadn’t been tempted by a woman in years, caught up in his work as he was and surrounded by the celibate. This one was nearly young enough to be his daughter. It was biologically possible. Her skin was warm under his palm, and his fingers lingered in her hair while his thumb traced her cheekbone. He struggled with a strong urge to kiss her. She reached between their bodies and fingered the collar of his shirt, the white tab lost somewhere in the adventure of the day. He felt the beads of the rosary wrapped around her hand brush his skin. Their movement caused the dove to flutter off of her shoulder with a loud flap of wings. It circled around their heads, cooing before flying away. They watched it depart together, and Andrew realized that he had placed his other hand on her elbow. He took a step away and swallowed; she tucked her hair behind her other ear. The spell of the moment was broken.

“Come on,” he said without looking at her. “Let’s get you home.” Instinctively, he reached out his hand, and she took it, interlacing her fingers with his. They walked from the garden, the blanket around her shoulders trailing a path behind them in the grass.

 

* * *

 

He realized immediately that he couldn’t just drop her off. Her wounds had disappeared, but the disaster in her apartment had not. Shattered glass was everywhere. Candles littered the ground. Her bed was still in the kitchen. His eyes lingered at the sheets, still rumpled from where he had lain next to her.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “I don’t even remember how this happened.”

Wordlessly, he removed his coat, folding it carefully and laying it over the back of one of the tall chairs in the kitchen. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his cleric’s shirt and rolled them up.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Cleaning up, of course. Where’s your broom?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but instead picked up the candles on the floor in front of him, and placed them back on the kitchen island.

 

* * *

 

About an hour later the apartment was mostly habitable. The shower door needed replacing, as did some windows. The glass had been swept up off the floor, and all the candles had been returned to an upright position, at least. She would still need to call a carpenter to repair the half-walls and some lamps were beyond saving, but it was safe to move around the rooms.

“Can you help me try to move the bed?” It was the question he had been dreading and hoping for at the same time. Their eyes met. Her desire for him still simmered below the surface, but there was something more, now, after all they had been through together in such a short time. He wondered what she saw in his gaze. _Is my conflict clear to her? Can she understand? She is very young._ He didn’t trust himself to answer her with words, so he moved to the side of the bed and tried to push it. It didn’t budge. _Miracle, indeed._ Every time he wondered if the last three days had been a dream, something proved to him that a strong spirit had been around them working miracles of faith and terror.

“It took four people to put it in here when I moved in,” she said, smiling. “Maybe we should leave it until I can get some friends here to help.”

He smiled back at her, suddenly as nervous as a teenager around her. “That’s probably a good idea. My back isn’t as young as it used to be.”

Her smile grew, lighting up her whole face. “You need to stop trying to prove to me how old you are. It won’t work, you know. I know your spirit, Andrew.” It was the first time she had called him by his name, and it took his breath away. Time seemed to stop. Suddenly the air was heavy with possibility. She walked toward him, slowly, stopping when their bodies were close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of her, but just short of touching him.

 _Lord, give me strength._ He had always found her beautiful, but now, standing by the bed they had shared with the candlelight glinting off of her features, he felt something powerful between them and he realized that his will to resist it was dwindling.

“I…” he stammered, and cleared his throat. He looked away from her. “I should go.” He took a step back, but she stopped him with a hand on his vest. Her palm was warm on his chest, and he was compelled to look in her eyes again. “Frankie,” he whispered, but she stopped him with her fingers on his lips.

“Andrew,” she whispered back. Her fingers traced to the edge of his mouth, and then along his jaw before tangling in his hair. He could feel the gauze of the bandages that were still on her wrists pressing against his cheek. “It’s okay,” she murmured, and he felt the words more than heard them as her breath mingled with his. Then her lips were on him again, and his resolve was broken. _God, forgive me,_ he thought. His arms wrapped themselves around her, pulling her tight against his body while he opened his mouth to hers.

Her tongue tasted like honey, and her waist was soft against his arms. He let his hands roam up her back as hers gripped the back of his head with gentle urgency. Her shirt was stiff from the blood that had dried on it, and he ran his hands back down to her waist and then up against her skin to convince himself that her scourging wounds were truly gone. His relief at finding her skin intact was overwhelmed by the passion he felt at touching her this way. He wanted her all at once and he wanted to savor her forever.

She slid her hands down his head to the back of his neck, and scratched him lightly with her fingernails as she moved them around his shoulders and down to the buttons on his shirt. The last time she had tried to remove his shirt, it had been almost forceful, a challenge driven by the spirit that had possessed her. This time it was a question, and it was all her. She paused at the first button, playing with it, still kissing him. He made himself pull his mouth away and rested his forehead on hers.

“Frankie,” he pleaded. He didn’t know what he was asking for, just that she was the only one that could give it to him. “Frances, please.”

“He does, you know,” she said, gently undoing the button and moving down to the next. He blinked and raised his head. Their eyes met, hers serene and sure, his questioning, both passionate. Her fingertips brushed his abdomen as she pulled his shirt out of his waistband. “God forgives you, though you have not sinned.” Her words shocked him. He wanted to ask her what she meant, but his mouth moved wordlessly, and before he could find his voice, she was kissing him again, and her hands were hot against the skin of his chest, his abdomen, his back. She smelled like jasmine. He was lost. His hands worked the button of her top quickly, and she let him push it off of her shoulders before reciprocating.

She kissed his shoulder as his clerical shirt and vest puddled around his feet. Her tongue and lips traced a line across his collar bone and settled in the hollow of his throat, where she sucked lightly. He pulled at the tank top she had been wearing under the loaned pajamas, and pushed it up her ribcage as they sank down in unison on the edge of the bed. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to expose her breasts, despite the fact that she had no such reservations about his torso. Her lips were now on his nipple, her tongue flicking across it lightly, making him shiver and moan. He rubbed his thumbs along the base of her breasts, feeling how heavy and full they were. _I’ve been waiting for her,_ he realized. _I’ve been waiting for her all this time._

He leaned back away from her mouth, his hands returning to her waist. She took the opportunity to remove her tank top herself and then he could do nothing but stare at her. So she helped him, holding his forearms and gently coaxing his hands to her breasts. Her nipples hardened against his palms, and he closed his eyes.

“Andrew,” she breathed. It was a prayer. She slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders, and brought his face to her for another kiss. The sound of his name from her lips rang in his ears. He gave himself up to her, kneading her breasts and rolling the nipples in his fingers.

There were no more words. They moved backward on the bed together, and he stopped caressing her breasts in favor of pulling her against him while he kissed her thoroughly. Their tongues danced together as if they had always done so, speaking a language he thought he had forgotten long ago. He pressed his thigh between her legs, and she rubbed against it slowly. The heat of her core bled through the fabric that separated them, and his erection strained against his pants. They undulated their bodies together gently.

He gripped her head as he kissed her, moved his lips down her neck to her shoulder, then down further to her sternum. He looked up at her as he slid down her body and cupped her breasts lightly, his thumbs rubbing back and forth just under the nipple, and she looked back at him with no hesitation. He saw the permission, and bent his head to take her breast into his mouth.

She arched her back into him with a moan, and wrapped his hair around her fingers. Her thighs surrounded his waist, and she used her legs around his thighs to push him against her body as he reverently suckled against her. Her head tossed against the pillows as he moved to the other breast, and he rubbed his thumb against the moist nipple he had just left, enjoying the sound of her breath as the saliva dried on her sensitive skin.

Having tasted both breasts, now he kissed his way down her abdomen, still holding her breasts until his lips met her waistband. Her hands moved toward his wrists and they both moved toward her pants, and she lifted her hips as he slid the soft cotton down to reveal her sex. He kept his palms in contact with her skin as he pushed the cloth down her legs and over her toes, then slid them back up, spreading her open for him. He could see the moisture on her trim pubic hair as her vulva came into full view, and he didn’t hesitate before dipping his head and tasting her. His tongue on her clit caused her hands to fly to his head, and she held him there, gently but firmly, as he lavished her folds with attention. She tasted amazing, sweet and spicy at the same time. He could become addicted to her easily. His tongue darted in and out of her, and he sucked on her labia and her clitoris until her thighs quivered against his shoulders and she came with a delicate gasp and a shudder.

He placed his palms on either side of her hips and lifted himself over her body in one smooth motion. He felt his belt scrape across her soft belly when he leaned down to kiss her mouth as she came down from her orgasm. She licked her own wetness off of his chin and around his mouth, and he groaned and kissed her deeply, pressing her into the mattress. Her hands went to his waist and she made quick work of undoing his belt and his fly. Soon her warm palm was gripping his length, stroking him up and down, and he had to stop kissing her and breathe to keep from embarrassing himself. His breath was ragged and he couldn’t help but moan on the exhale when she rubbed her thumb against the tip, spreading the moisture around in a slick circle. He moved his hips to thrust into her hand once, twice, a third time, and when she squeezed her hand around him he kissed her again hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth the way he wanted to thrust his penis into her body.

She took the hint and pushed his pants and boxers over his hips, and he moved to help her as she used her hands and feet to shove them off of his legs. He rained kisses over her face, her neck, her chest, and back again. She spread her legs wider and gripped his buttocks, pushing his cock against her. He felt her labia slide along his length, her wetness making it slick. He loved it. His hand slid down her body and held her hip in place as he slid against her again, and again. It was driving them both mad.

Finally, he used his hand to position himself at her entrance, but before he pushed in, he held himself up on his elbows and gently gripped her head between his hands. They both stilled. An eternity in a second stretched between them as he silently asked the question, one last time. They were both sweating now, and breathing hard, but all of that faded away as they looked into each other’s eyes and fell. Her pupils blew wide, and she tilted her hips up and took him inside her, causing them both to shake and moan.

Slowly they started a rhythm. He thrust into her with his whole body, and she used her whole body to meet him. Their eyes stayed locked as they moved against each other. He felt his soul mingle with hers as their bodies moved together. The litany of the marriage sacrament ran itself through his head as he slid within her.

 _I take thee…_ He thrust a little deeper.

 _To love and cherish…_ Her hands gripped his back, her fingertips digging into the skin but without using her nails.

 _In good times and bad…_ He moved one hand to her hip, and began to thrust a little faster.

 _In sickness and in health…_ She wrapped her ankles around his legs, and pulled him up to her as she tilted her hips to take more of him inside.

 _As long as I shall live…_ Her mouth opened into a round little “o” and she made a strangled little mewl. He felt her thighs start to quiver and could feel his own orgasm building in his pelvis.

_Amen._

In unison, they pushed up against each other. Neither blinked as they sanctified a covenant with their bodies, their hearts truly beating as one. He poured his soul into her and she welcomed it.

_Amen amen amen amen amen amen amen…._

They inhaled deeply together, and relaxed. He collapsed on top of her and used his hand on his hip to bring her with him as he rolled onto his side. She stroked his hair, and he her thigh, but their gaze never wavered. The air was still, yet smelled like flowers. Something Holy had just happened. For the first time in years, he felt like God was around him. He moved his face toward her, and kissed her gently on the lips. Her eyes finally closed.

“Amen,” he whispered against her lips.

“Amen,” she said back.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself._   –Matthew 6:34a


End file.
